


Positive Reinforcement

by HiddenDirector



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Fingering, M/M, Spike and Valve, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, and that's something special to me, because Megs was the first crewmember to be shown seeing Rung's eyes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 20:54:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6393412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenDirector/pseuds/HiddenDirector
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a one-sided psychological evaluation between Rung and Megatron, the former tyrant decides to interrupt so he can turn the tables.  He's decided to help Rung do the one thing he didn't do for fear of the repercussions.</p>
<p>It was time Rung made some bad decisions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Positive Reinforcement

**Author's Note:**

> I began this before the big reveal about Rung's past in issues 48-49. I do think it still kind of fits, though. Not completely, but I loved this idea and this pairing too much to let a pesky thing like unpredictable canon get in my way.

It had occurred to him during a session with the ship’s co-captain that an unusual amount of people were taking an interest in him.  Well, two so far, but that was two more than he was used to.  He felt a twinge of dèja vu at the words that left Megatron’s mouth.

“May I ask you a question?”

Rung, who was in the middle of what seemed to be a one-sided conversation with his patient, snapped his lip components shut.  His surprise must have been astonishingly evident with the smirk he was receiving.  He reset his vocals.  “If you feel you must, I don’t see why not.”

Megatron leaned forward in his seat, causing Rung to fight the urge to shift away.  “How is it you can consider yourself an unbiased source of psychiatric help when you wear one of these?”  The former tyrant placed a servo on the psychiatrist’s Autobot badge.

Rung’s optics followed the large servo up the arm connected to it and finally met the co-captain’s.  “Because this isn’t a sign of condemnation, Megatron.”  He placed a hand atop his badge, and with it the servo still there.  “I wear this badge because I do not agree with the Decepticon philosophy.  I would never turn away nor let sway my judgment because of the color of a ‘bot’s badge.”

“One of the crewmates told me you have earned a reputation.  You can ‘forgive anything’ they say.”

“You wish to know if I forgive you.”

“I do not seek forgiveness, but I am curious.  Can one really be so forgiving that they can even look at my crimes and dismiss them?”

Rung thought on how to answer that.  After a moment he removed his glasses.  He knew that the larger mech appreciated his willingness to be direct.  “Megatron, you are mistaking forgiveness for acquittal.  This could not be further from the truth.  When I say I will forgive the crimes you have committed, I am neither condoning them nor saying you deserve leniency in your punishment.  I am saying that what you have done in the past will not affect my own treatment or opinions of you now or in the future.”

“That is impressively neutral of you, doctor.”

The orange and white mech’s lips quirked down into a small frown.  He slid his glasses back on, pushing them up with a servo.  “I was assuming you asked me a serious question in search of an honest answer.  I must say I am disappointed.”

“I assure you, I am being quite serious,” Megatron answered.  “I have never heard a more passive-aggressive response to any question.  I believe I learn more about you every time I come in here than you do of me.”

Rung raised an eyebrow, curious.  “Oh?  And what have you learned of me?”

Megatron leaned forward again, lacing his servos together.  “In the last few times we have talked I’ve learned that you try harder than anyone else to remain passive, no matter the circumstances.  The NAILs back on Cybertron would be envious of your capacity for neutrality.  However, you are not as unbiased as you would like to believe yourself.  You have spent hours telling me what is wrong with me based upon mere minutes of my own dialogue.  Have tried your hardest, however subconsciously, to make me feel helpless in the face of your words.”

“Now, that is hardly-“

Megatron held up a hand, silencing the psychologist.  “It is my turn, doctor.  Do not interrupt me.”  Rung closed his mouth, but still didn’t look happy.  “I can only assume from your reputation and usual professionalism that it isn’t easy to get a rise like that from you.  That is impressive, considering the types of people you deal with in your everyday.  You can’t hide yourself from people as well as you’d like them to believe, however.  That is why you wear these.”  He reached forward and gently pulled the glasses from him again.  There was no resistance.  “As I suspected.  Your eyes burn with disapproval, Rung.  It would not do for a patient to know you’re capable of such emotions, so you keep your optics hidden.  A cunning, if simple, technique.”  Instead of giving him the glasses back, Megatron put them to the side.  “Now, let me go right to the core of what I have found out about you.  Despite the image you put out for people, you wish they would stop forgetting about you.  That’s why you came on this trip, to make a mark that will give your name the recognition you wish for.  There is already an entire school of psychology named for you.  What more could you possibly hope for?”

Rung stared at him for a moment, not answering.  This wasn’t supposed to be about him, it was about Megatron.  His own motivations shouldn’t have been in question.  The large silver mech was right, however.  He wore his glasses primarily to hide his optics, the only part of him he could never train to stop showing off his personal thoughts and feelings.  Without them there was really no use in trying to hide himself from the former Decepticon leader.  “There is a far cry from being known of and being known.  I have been on this ship since we left and out of the 200 mechs here only a handful remember I exist when I am not around.  The others only know I’m here when they see me, and even then most of them don’t even know my name.  I am just the psychiatrist, no one really important. Here to pick apart their brains and listen to them talk about nothing for two hours.  There is nothing more frustrating than simply wishing someone would _get my name right_.”

“Rung.”

The psychologist snapped his lips shut for a second time upon hearing the deep tenor of Megatron’s voice say his name.  Something shivered inside of him and he looked away.

“Is it truly that simple, doctor?  You can be so easily swayed with such a small word?”

“Words are powerful things, as we have discussed before, Captain.”  Rung reached for his glasses, suddenly feeling the urge to hide himself again.  “Some of the most important words are the smallest.”

Silver fingers stopped orange ones, grasping his wrist just before they could even touch the round lenses.  “ _No._ ”

It wasn’t a command, yet Rung felt the sudden need to obey.  His frame shuddered and he found himself suddenly strangely helpless despite the lack of an actual threat.  It was a strange sensation, after everything they’d faced already.  He gave no resistance to being pulled away from the safety of his glasses.  Guided gently back into his seat like a sparkling who had been caught doing something they didn’t know was wrong.

“It is not the words that are important,” Megatron continued to speak.  Rung had noticed how deep his vocals were before, but never really processed it until now.  “Not when speaking.  When writing, words are everything, it is all you have.  When speaking, however, it is in the way things are said.  You know this as well as I do.  It is how you keep control of sessions, even with unpredictable patients such as Whirl.  Your voice is practiced in how calm it is, how soothing.  It gives others a sense of comfort and security, the ability to speak freely without worrying.  I, on the other hand, do not only speak words of command, I speak command itself.”

“Do not underestimate the words themselves,” Rung replied, concentrating on keeping his composure.  He knew that Megatron was displaying his own command as a demonstration.  And the co-captain knew that he was succumbing to it easily, as did all others who heard it.  However, he likely didn’t know exactly _how_ it was affecting him.  The psychologist felt a rush, the servos still grasping his wrist feeling hot against the circuits underneath.  “Choosing words carefully is very important.  No matter how soft I speak, if I threatened you it would still register to you as a threat.  And even the most commanding of voices need the proper commands themselves.  After all, if your voice could turn people no matter what there would never have been a war.”

“It is all in knowing what voice is needed for which person.  With Rodimus, for example.  To drive him towards any goal, you must use a voice with more confidence than him.  You must let him know that you, for 100% certainty, know what you are doing better than him.  Ultra Magnus requires a voice filled with respect.  He requires validation that he is still in control of any situation.”

“And me?  What do I require?” Rung felt compelled to ask.

Megatron pulled him forward so suddenly, Rung let out a surprised yelp.  He caught himself by putting his free hand out, grabbing onto the closest thing he had to get a grip on: Megatron’s leg.  He looked up at the former Decepticon leader in surprise.  “A chance to make a bad decision.  You know the reason why you go unnoticed most of the time.  Because you are the type of mech who will almost always choose the path around any problem that will cause the least amount of discomfort for all parties involved.  It leaves you without an impression on people.  However, all it takes is one choice.”  Megatron placed his free servos upon Rung’s chestplate, moving them slowly lower as he spoke.  Trails of heat followed them, causing the psychiatrist’s vents to hitch.  “Say stop, and I will.  We can pretend this conversation never happened, go our separate ways.  Allow me to continue, however, and we will leave an impression upon each other neither will forget.”

“Th-this is highly inappropriate…” Rung managed as the servos reached his midsection.  Despite the words, he found himself moving upwards, slowly straightening.  He felt almost afraid that if he moved too quickly the large silver mech sitting before him would change his mind.

“Whenever you want, just tell me to stop,” Megatron reiterated, letting go of the orange and white mech’s wrist and placing his now free hand on Rung’s thigh.  He held firm as he anticipated the reaction he was going to get when his descending servos finally found their way to Rung’s interface cover.  He could feel the heat already begging to be released behind it.

Rung felt himself waver at the contact.  It had been quite literally millions of years since he last let another mech touch him.  “We should not be doing this…” he whispered as strong servos pressed against his panel, working into seams and openings.

“We should not,” Megatron agreed, though he didn’t stop.  The hand on Rung’s thigh pulled him towards the former tyrant, servos pressing harder into the panel beneath them.

“We should…” the psychiatrist trailed off before he could say the word.  Megatron had been right.  This was a horrible idea, no matter how good it felt.  But he didn’t want to stop.  He wanted to stop worrying about appropriateness, and conduct, and patient intimacy ethics for just long enough to allow someone to _know him_ again.  And so he did what Megatron wanted.

Rung made a bad choice.

He reached forward, tilting Megatron’s helm up and taking pressing his lips upon the former tyrant’s.  At the same time Rung’s valve cover finally clicked open, exposing himself to someone for the first time in millions of years.  As their glossas entangled, cooling vents whirring to life, Megatron’s fore-servo pushed against Rung’s anterior node.  The orange mech moaned at the feeling, pushing himself forward.  He pressed a hand against the back of Megatron’s helm, the other clawing at the silver mech’s back as he rocked his hips forward against the servos massaging the mesh lips of his valve and node.

Megatron grasped the thigh he was holding, pulling the psychiatrist’s legs further apart as he pushed his servos into the hot confines of his valve.  Rung gasped and cried out as the servos pushed and brushed against circuits and wires behind the walls of his valve that he’d almost forgotten existed.  Lubricant ran down Megatron’s hand and arm from the dripping hole, which shuddered and pulsed inside with desire.

Rung couldn’t stop himself from moving his hips desperately, drinking in the feeling of pleasure shooting through every circuit of his being.  He was starting to forget why this was a bad idea in the first place.  All he could think was…

“More… more… ah, please, more…”  He didn’t even realize he was saying it out loud.

“This is not what you want more of,” Megatron spoke up, not stopping his moving servos.  Three of them continued to move in and out of the tight, hot valve while his fore-servo massaged the anterior node.  It leaked more as Rung cried out desperately.  The former Decepticon grasped his hips with his other hand, holding them still.  “You want me to fill you completely.”

“Yes…”

“Say what you want me to do.”

Despite the near-delirious state he found himself in, Rung still hesitated.  He felt the urge to retain the little dignity he could still claim.  Silence was apparently the wrong answer, as the servos left his valve, causing him to let out a humiliating whine in the wake of the loss.

“M-Megatron…” the psychiatrist whimpered, letting go of his helm to touch himself.  The larger mech grabbed his wrist to stop him, as he did when Rung reached for his glasses.  This time he pulled the orange mech, who didn’t offer much resistance, to lay across the patient seat.  Rung felt suddenly extremely helpless lying on his back as Megatron grasped his legs and spread them as wide as his old frame’s joints would allow.

The former tyrant leaned over him, pinning both of the smaller mech’s arms above his head with one hand on his wrists.  The other hand returned to the valve spread wide before him, massaging the outer lips and anterior node roughly.

“Ah…!  Ah, Megatron!  P-please!  Th-that’s too… AH!” Rung was reduced to desperate cries and pleas, unable to move.  He didn’t dare close his legs even an inch, even though it was growing uncomfortable to have them so far apart.

“Either tell me what you want, or tell me to stop,” was the ultimatum the huge silver mech gave.

Rung was too desperate to even consider the idea that he could say nothing and ride his current treatment to his own overload.  He finally cried out, “Your spike!  Please, M-Megatron!  I want your spike!”

At the words Megatron removed his hand from between the psychiatrist’s legs.  His interface panel opened, large spike fully pressurizing.  Rung suddenly remembered exactly how much larger Megatron was than him, and thus how much larger that appendage was than his valve.  He shuddered in anticipation.  It was partially nervousness for whether or not he could take something like that after all this time, but mostly excitement.  He felt embarrassed at the whine that left him, valve twitching and leaking in anticipation.

The rounded, silver head of Megatron’s spike pushed roughly past the lips of his valve, stretching and filling the cavern within.  Rung cried out in desperate pleasure as it filled every inch, coming to rest completely inside with the tip pushing against his ceiling node maddeningly.  He didn’t remember if any of his partners of so long ago had ever managed to do so on the first thrust before.  The thought was driven from his mind as Megatron’s hips pulled back, then thrust forward quick and hard.  This time the spike tip didn’t push against his node, it slammed against it.  As painful as it was to have his legs forced apart to accommodate the former tyrant, to have his valve stretched to its limits after a few million year celibacy, there was no denying how wonderful it was to have someone _there_ again.

“M-Megatron…!” he gasped out as his valve took the huge spike again and again, the sounds of scraping and clanking metal filling the office.  It mixed well with Megatron’s heavy grunting, Rung’s pleasure-filled screams, and both of their vents and cooling fans working at high-speed.

The only response he received was the silver mech releasing his hands, pulling the psychiatrist up into his lap without stopping his piston-like thrusts.  His right hand grasped Rung’s aft, holding it as leverage as he thrust upwards into the much smaller mech.  The other one wrapped around his waist, locking him fully in place.

Not that Rung had any intention of going anywhere, as he demonstrated by wrapping his own arms around Megatron’s neck and holding on for dear life as he was jarred and bounced far more than his old frame was probably ever meant to endure.  “I-I’m going to… over… overload…” he managed, not looking away from the mech fragging him.

Megatron’s faceplate was twisted in concentration, optics not releasing their hold on the psychiatrist’s.  “Overload whenever you are ready, Rung,” he replied heavily.

The thick vocals saying his name in conjunction with the abuse his ceiling node was enduring, the spike inside of him giving shallow but powerful thrusts at such close proximity, drove the psychiatrist over the edge.  He let out a scream of ecstasy, feeling the spike inside of him thrust upwards one last time.  It stayed there this time, though, Megatron grinding his hips in a way that caused them to massage his anterior node while the tip of his spike ground against Rung’s ceiling node.

The overload was powerful and satisfying, lubricant coating both of their interface panels as Rung clung to the former tyrant, pushing himself down upon the spike inside of him for whatever last, clinging bits of pleasure he could force out of it.

When he was at last spent, exhaustion overtaking his systems in the post-overload euphoria, Rung was laid back down upon his back.  The still-pressurized spike didn’t leave his now sore and over-sensitized valve, though.  Instead Megatron waited for him to be comfortable to begin thrusting again.  He ignored the half-sparked whines of protest the orange mech gave as he pleasured himself inside the psychiatrist for a few more moments.  He then once again thrust all the way deep inside, staying there as he grunted out his own overload.  Rung felt the rush of transfluid, holding still until the silver mech finished.  Once he was, Megatron pulled out and pushed himself to the side, collapsing tiredly.

“I believe I am getting too old for such a… heated session of interfacing,” the former Decepticon leader managed a wry smile, retracting his spike and replacing his panel.

Rung gave a chuckle, pushing himself into a sitting position.  He cringed in embarrassment at the sight of lubricant and transfluid leaking from his valve.  He would have to use the washroom attached to his office to clean up before he could even think of closing himself back up.  “If you think you are too old for such things, imagine how I must feel,” he pointed out in amusement, distracting himself from the sight.  “It has been a very long time since a mech has made me feel so…” he trailed off, looking for a word to properly describe it.

“I know,” Megatron relieved him of the pressure of finding one.  “That is why you reacted so potently to it.  Your body has not forgotten the feeling, you simply became accustomed to being without it.  But when I gave it the opportunity to relive it, even for just a little while, you couldn’t resist.”

Rung felt a clench of disappointment in his spark, despite having expected this.  “Is that truly it, then?  It was just this once?”

Megatron sat up, looking at the psychiatrist’s faceplate in earnest.  “If that is what you want.  But I won’t deny you if you want me to continue down this path.”  He grasped Rung’s chin with his fore and secondary servos, tilting his helm so that they looked into each other’s optics again.  “I will admit to being far better at the physical aspect of a relationship than the emotional.  However, I am willing to give it a try.”

Rung didn’t know how to respond at first, searching the red optics before him nervously.  However, he came to a realization as he did.  “You… are serious.  You wish to initiate a relationship with me.  But… why me?”

“I decided within the last few sessions we had together.  You and I have something in common aboard this ship.  We find ourselves surrounded by people, yet we are both very alone.  Between us, I hope to solve that.”

Rung smiled, touched by the thought.  It was both selfish and selfless at the same time.  Megatron could have found companionship in someone like Ultra Magnus, who shared mutual respect with him.  Or Ravage, who was still loyal despite the co-captain’s turncoat status against the Decepticons.  But he decided to find it in the one other mech onboard who needed companionship as much as he did.  “It is a terrible idea.  I shouldn’t fraternize with my patients.  I _should_ stop this where it is, ask that we pretend the bad idea we realized didn’t happen.”

“I hear a ‘however’ in this speech,” Megatron said good-humoredly.  “I have sat through enough of your hour-long one-sided conversations to recognize them.”

“ _However_ ,” Rung continued, chuckling.  “I find myself wanting you to help me do what you said I avoided.  What you were _right_ in saying I need every once in a while.”  He leaned forward and kissed the former Decepticon on the lip components.

When they parted, said lip components were smirking.  “Well, then.  Here’s hoping I can help you make many more bad decisions.”


End file.
